


The Last Blues

by Atalto



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Season 6, Pre-Relationship, Season 6 Spoilers, Shiro is Touch-starved, Touch-Starved, can be read as platonic i guess, if you’d prefer that, shiro is Lance’s hero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 06:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14948963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atalto/pseuds/Atalto
Summary: He’s left with Red, with Lance, who invited him in with an uncertain, almost nervous smile, who rambled unconsciously all the way from entrance to cockpit, who sat him down with a small bowl of rehydrated food goo and a cup of milk that he promised was pasteurised.Shiro thinks he needs space after coming back, but the truth is far from that.In fact, all he wants is contact after being alone for years, which Lance is happy to oblige.





	The Last Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys season 6 broke me.
> 
> Have some ambiguous shance that I wrote in a car whilst blasting Adele.
> 
> Unbeta’d bc I’m Lazy and it’s late, pls shout if there’s any errors.

He's been in the Red Lion's bathroom for what feels like hours now.

There's a small mirror in there, hanging on the wall above the small sink, that he's fairly sure is a recent installation. He doesn't recall there being a mirror in the Black lion's bathroom, nor in Green's from the few trips he took with Pidge to gather data. He chuckles quietly, dryly; of course Lance would put a mirror in his lion, he's not surprised at all.

In a way, he's thankful. It lets him look at newly bleached hair, cut short but not shaved in a way that's fresh but not familiar. It lets him look at scars he doesn't remember getting, trailing up and down his left shoulder like rivers and tributaries. It lets him look at the robotic remains of the prosthetic, port hanging limply from his shoulder that glinted ruby in the red-tinted lights.

It lets him look at a man he doesn't recognise, take in facial features and haircuts and body types that are as alien to him as the fake arm he once called his own.

He doesn't know why he chose the Red Lion's bathroom to hide in- wait, no, that's a lie.  
He does know, but he doesn't want to.

It's because Keith - older, rugged Keith, wise beyond his years - flinches every time he looks in his direction, fists balled like Shiro's suddenly going to run over and punch him in the face. The Black lion was too crowded anyway, containing him and Krolia and the wolf-thing that snarls at Shiro if he gets too close. He'd be a burden, interrupting lost moments between son and mother. It's best for him to stay away for now.

It's because Pidge - older Pidge, who talks of Matt and Sam as if she saw them yesterday, and who's once cropped hair now tumbles down her shoulders - doesn't look him in the eye anymore, moving her glasses around in some attempted excuse. The Green Lion is packed anyway, filled to the rafters with junk and nick-nacks that she's collected throughout the years. It's best for him to stay away for now.

It's because Hunk - confident Hunk, who squares his shoulders like a battle-worn veteran, and who's hairband can no longer hide the scars that trail down his forehead - never really talked to him, and coming back from the dead hadn't changed that. He regards Shiro with distrust, making sure there's an arms length between them at any time. The Yellow Lion is filled with their food rations anyway, Hunk probably wouldn't want him knocking around in their essential space pantry. It's best for him to stay away for now.

It's because Allura - scared, shaken Allura, who's hands tremble when she lifts them above her shoulders, and keeps Coran and this new Altean within a reachable distance at all times - retreated to her Lion the first moment she could, running into its cockpit with tears in her jewel-like eyes. The Blue Lion is the unofficial Altean Lion anyway, where this new, unfamiliar Altean resides, who regards _everyone_ with a small grace of fear. It's best to stay away for now.

So he's left with Red, with Lance, who invited him in with an uncertain, almost nervous smile, who rambled unconsciously all the way from entrance to cockpit, who sat him down with a small bowl of rehydrated food goo and a cup of milk that he promised was pasteurised.

Lance has changed as well, and he's not sure if it's for the better. The childlike wonder of space is gone, replaced by thin, scarred lips that settle into lines more than smiles, replaced with badly grown out hair and a trigger hand that trembles from damage rather than fear. The Red Lion is sparse, almost scarily so; there's only Kalternecker in here with him, along with a small plastic box of trinkets that's shoved in the corner of the cockpit, half-covered by a pile of jeans and boxers and a familiar olive jacket.

  
It's weird, and slightly disconcerting, since he thought Lance was a more homely man than that. Admittedly, he had never been inside the blue-no-red Paladin's quarters, but he always assumed they'd be an endearing mess of clothes, skincare products, and random souvenirs he would pick up and pocket from any and all planets they landed on.

Instead, it's a small box in the corner of a cockpit. Two years of adventure boiled down to a tiny collection of items he held dear.

He doesn't fear Shiro, instead watching his every move with an air of concern, smiling brightly, falsely, whenever Shiro looked up at him.

He knows why.

He closes his eyes and he's in the plane again, reaching out for this blue-red-blue-red spirit with every ounce of his energy, screaming and calling his name until his vocal chords hurt.

"I don't blame you, y'know," Lance said quietly once Shiro had finished eating, "that wasn't you back there, this wasn't your fault."

He reached out, lay a gentle gloved hand on the arm port.

That's when Shiro ran, locking himself in the box-like bathroom, and it's where he's been ever since.

He wonders if Lance is getting worried yet.

As if on cue, there's a knock at the door, hesitant but quiet in the silence of the bathroom.

"Shiro?" Comes the voice from the other side, "are you okay? I- I know you're in there."

He doesn't reply, instead slipping his arm back into the flight suit and sitting on the toilet seat.

"I- there's no rush, okay?" Lance carries on, and Shiro can hear the fear in his voice, "stay in there for as long as you need, it's okay, I understand, just- just let me know you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Shiro hears himself reply, shocked by the roughness of his own voice, and he hears Lance sigh with relief.

"That's good, thats- that's really good," Lance replies, and there's a gentle hitting sound like he's putting his hand against the door, "I'm gonna' stay here, okay? Just in case you need me, there's no rush-"

"Why aren't you afraid?" Shiro interjects, traitorous thoughts slipping out unbidden, and he feels angry pins pricking his eyes as the looks of his former teammates flash to the front of his mind, "I hurt you, I lied to you, I-"

"That wasn't you, Shiro," Lance says, voice steady and sure, "I- I don't know if you remember, but back in the Voltron mindspace, back on Olkarion, you called for me, _for me_ -"

He cuts himself off with a semi-hysterical laugh, before trailing off into silence as if he expected Shiro to reply.  
There's a shuffle on the other side of the door, and he knows its Lance sliding down the door to sit on the floor.

"You were - _are_ \- my hero," he continues honestly, and there's something about his honest admission that strikes a minor chord in Shiro's heart, "and I trust you, honestly. The rest of the team will come round, I know they will, they just need time to accept. Time to move on, I guess."  
He chuckles sadly, and there's a thump as he lays his head against the door. "It's not easy carrying on when you find your trusted leader was dead, and then a clone, and then the clone's dead, and then the leader is back in the clone's body - it's confusing, y'know?"

Oh man, doesn't he know it. Just thinking about it is making Shiro's head spin.

"But you - I mean, the other you, the clone - trusted me." Lance sniffles, and his voice cracks lightly. He's started to cry. "He confided in me that he was scared, that he didn't feel himself - he didn't know what was going on either."

There's a flash of vision in Shiro's head, of a familiar clone crying in Lance's arms in a darkened corridor, hopeless and broken. It's distant and blurred - a gift from his time as the Black Lion - but he knows exactly what Lance is talking about.

"I trusted him," Lance continues, "and I trust you."

It's that line that makes the tears fall, apparently.

The next thing Shiro knows, he's got thick, hot tears dripping off his chin, spattering loudly against the hard floor. His entire body aches, craving that gentle, friendly touch he hasn't felt since Keith left to go collect scultrite in the Weblum.

Before he can stop himself, his hand reaches out to the door release, unlocking it with a click and letting the door slide open with a pneumatic hiss.

Lance turns his head, and his face breaks Shiro's heart. His once deep, caramel skin is paled and tear-stained, and his body shakes as he pushes himself to his feet.  
"I'm- I'm sorry," he stutters, locking eye contact before averting his gaze shamefully, "I- I-"

Before he can finish, Shiro stands on uncertain feet, stumbling over to pull the young man into an overbalanced one-armed hug.

It's tight, but slightly awkward; Lance doesn't hug back for a solid second, and Shiro is slightly afraid he's stopped breathing before two arms lock themselves around his middle tightly. Lance has grown somewhere between his death and return, tall enough that they're now both the same height, but Shiro still bends his tired knees to bury his head in Lance's sweet-smelling shoulder and sob.

He hasn't sobbed like this, cried like this, since he first woke up in the Astral Plane, alone and screaming in an infinite expansion of nothing. No comfort, no one to answer him, no one to hold him close.

This time, he has Lance. Patient, gentle Lance who has started rubbing his back in smooth, long strokes.

"I'm sorry," he forces out, voice muffled against Lance's armour as he shakes his head, feeling the most pathetic he's felt since he came back, "I'm so sorry, Lance, I-"

He hears Lance shushing him, almost like one would with a child, but he doesn't take offence, instead gripping Lance's flight suit with trembling fingers. There's a hand in his hair, fingertips drawing slow patterns into short hair with only the gentlest scratch of bitten-to-the-quick nails against his skin; all he mostly feels is rough, battle-earned callouses on his scalp where he thought there would be smooth, moisturised skin. That almost makes him cry harder, that whatever he missed forced Lance to give up his one remaining coping mechanism of manicures and face masks.

Despite it all, he practically melts into the contact, ashamed but so, so desperate, a dying, shrivelled man who's finally found a well in the middle of a desert.  
A well with glistening blue eyes, broken, beautiful skin, and a soft hushing tone that seems to sap the energy out of him as he rehydrates.

Right now, he feels like - _he wishes_ \- he could drown. Overwhelm himself in this sensation, this touch, revel and stay within it for aeons.

At some point, his knees must have given out on him, as he's aware he's leaning more and more on Lance as time goes on. He's aware of one hand moving from around his waist, travelling constantly down his side and his thigh until Lance is stretching to secure it around his knees.

"I'm gonna' move you, if that's okay," Lance says, voice wavering between tears and an iron strength, "somewhere a little more comfortable?"

Shiro nods, not trusting his voice nor his face to look up at Lance, and keeps his face firmly buried in his neck as Lance lifts him off the floor in one strong, swift movement.

He realises there's a lot about Lance he doesn't know; his physical strength for one.

Lance settles him into a supportive hold - bridal style, a small voice in his head suggests - and begins the slow, careful walk back into the Lion's emergency living quarters. Shiro doesn't know quite where they're going, eyes fixed shut and fingers still holding Lance's flight suit like a life line, but he trusts him.  
The sound of his footsteps in the humming silence of the Lion has hypnotic qualities, and his breathing slows in time with Lance's walking rhythm. Each breath feels rough in his throat, scratchy and harsh, but he feels Lance squeeze him gently with every exhale, a grounding sense to add to the warmth of contact against his skin.

"I'm just gonna' lay you down," Lance finally said after a short while of walking, and Shiro feels him stop, "don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

He's gently laid on the bunk that's built into the wall of the small bedroom, and he feels arms slip away from underneath him. It's not the most comfortable bed ever, but after what felt like an eternity of hard, space-patterned floor to sleep on, it's positively heavenly.

He let one eye flicker open, stinging from the sudden light. If he squints, he can see the outline of Lance by the side of the bed, shucking off his dented armour haphazardly with a grunt of effort. It's funny, or at least it is to his tired brain, and a laugh rips itself from aching lungs.

"Oh, so my pain is funny to you?" Lance shoots, sarcastic but without a drop of venom, small smile forming on his face, "man, I forgot how rude real Shiro was-"  
He cuts himself off, cringing at his own words. "Sorry, that was-"

"Funny," Shiro says for him, smile stretching over his face, "it was funny."

Lance smiles in a relief, a beautiful, joyous smile that he didn't realise he needed in his life.

Was this what he had missed as a leader? This light that somehow managed to shine, despite having literally just lost his makeshift home?

He wonders if his clone ever saw Lance like this.

"You said you weren't leaving," he says quickly, changing the subject before the silence got so thick he suffocated, "but I don't see where you can go if you stay."

He's telling the truth; this bedroom was obviously only meant for one person, with no other bed in sight. The guilt that's been lying latent in his head rears it's angry, spitting head at the fact he's taken Lance's bed when he probably wants it the most.

Lance, however, just shakes his head. "You're gonna' have to budge over then, big guy," he says expectantly, as if it was some big no-brainer, "because I wanna' sleep too - I've taken on Lotor, entered the quintessence rift, killed Lotor, watched the Castle get destroyed, and then watched my friend-slash-hero figure literally get brought back from the dead. You can't blame me for being tired, dude."

There isn't really much arguing with that.

Slowly, Shiro backs himself against the wall, holding out his one arm expectantly for Lance to crawl in with him.

Instead, Lance frowns. "So is that metal thing literally part of you? It doesn't look very comfortable."

"I- I don't know," Shiro replies honestly, wiggling the port lamely, "can we worry about that in the morning? I'm so tired."

"Oh shit, of course!" Lance says quickly, and something in Shiro tells him it's the first time he's heard Lance swear, "I'm sorry."

Shiro just shakes his head, and Lance smiles awkwardly, before clambering onto the small section of bed next to Shiro. His arms go around Shiro immediately, one hand lazily thrown over his middle whilst the other wraps around his shoulders and pulls him close to tuck him under his chin.

It's the safest Shiro's felt in a long time.

With a sigh, he snuggles into the warmth, single arm securing around Lance's waist like an anchor. He feels guilty for allowing himself this pleasure, of finally having another warm, loving body next to him, one who is currently swirling fingers through greyed hair, but fatigue is starting to claw at his eyes, rip at his brain.

Against him, Lance sighs happily. Something tells him the other man wants this contact just as much as he does.

Something leaves him wondering if Lance has been wanting this, some contact, cuddling or just simply a hug for a while. He recalls a few stories Lance shared about his family, how constant contact was a frequent thing as well as sharing beds.

Hopefully he might be able to make Lance feel more at home, even if their home is gone.

Around them, Red grumbles, somewhere between a purr and a grunt as they settle on the planet side to rest and recharge. He senses a wary acceptance, shot through his heightened link to Black, which feels like some kind of blessing to get close to their paladin.

He takes it almost greedily, curling in against Lance to take in his warmth. The plane was so cold, it's a sudden godsend to have this human heater in his arm.  
Lance tangles their legs together, and they slot together like puzzle pieces. He feels Lance's breath rush through his hair, something he never thought he had missed until now.

"Go to sleep, Takashi," Lance murmurs sleepily, words slurring together his arms loosen gently around Shiro's middle.

Part of him doesn't want to. He wants to make sure Lance won't leave, but then-

He's _so tired_.

"Sleep," Lance whispers once more, breath in Shiro's hair like a gentle breeze.

Consciousness slips away from him like quicksilver through warm fingers, and for once, with Lance next to him once again, he's not afraid.

The last thing he feels is chapped lips on his hair.

He'll have to repay that in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I’ll write something of worth soon.
> 
> This was also a kind of vent piece bc OP would very much like a hug right now, but eh oh well.
> 
> Hope it was okay y’all!


End file.
